I'd hoped to pick up my Blipping again but my time passes and days find their ends barely begun. So I'm going to start here with this entry, write it quickly - get it down- and hope that this one leads to the next and on ...
Feathers then. My partner loves feathers, if a tiny one drifts before her she senses her mother close. Such fine things that lift us to another element. Feathers to fly, feathers to feel.
I pick up the odd feather when I'm out walking and gather them to this glass that sits on the window sill of my bedroom, our bedroom I should say. For I am with someone again, someone who sees her mother's protective heart in falling feathers. And I am lifted.
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